Behind Closed Doors
by Nightsmoke
Summary: Vincent meets with a certain someone with matters to discuss. No pairings.


All characters © Toboso Yana

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**Behind Closed Doors**

"Your mingling skills are as poor as ever, I see," the young man sighed, paying no heed to the suspicious and fearful stares that were boring holes into the fellow before him from every angle. The fellow in question seemed not to notice that he was silently being turned into Swiss cheese by his fellow Londoners, twirling his long walking-stick in a nonchalant zigzag pattern.

"Well never you mind," the other man said. "Come." He began on his way and gestured for the man with the walking-stick to follow suit. It was a brisk day permeated by strong gales, no more than 4ºC at the most. The man with the walking-stick, clad only in a thin suit, gave no indication that he was cold or bothered by the breeze. His hair, meticulously parted to the left, refused to unhinge itself from its austere style, even with the wind urging it on. The walking-stick clacked mutedly on the English cobblestones as they walked on.

The two ensconced into the heavily cushioned seats of a local café. The lighting in the place was murky, and the smoke of puffed cigars wafted clouds of milk in the air around them. The fellow with the walking-stick seemed unaccustomed to the smell, and wrinkled his nose like a dog on the verge of a sneeze. The other sat down on the other side of the table to face his lunch partner, unperturbed by the muskiness.

"The Earl of Phantomhive," the fellow with the walking-stick greeted. He observed his surroundings with a mild curiosity. "What business is such that you cannot conduct it in the comfort of your own home?"

Vincent cleared his throat-- the sound of a man who is burdened with dealing heavy news--but his gaze remained calm. He looked his guest in the eyes, seeming unalarmed that the irises were a translucent yellow behind the spectacles.

"I have decided to retract my decision to employ you to the Phantomhive Manor, William," he said quietly. "Your services are no longer needed."

The other sighed, pushing up his spectacles along the smooth bridge of his nose. He was not disappointed, as most people would be after being rejected from one of the most lucrative noble families in all of England. "Very well. May I ask why?"

"I have simply found an individual more suited to the task," Vincent stated. "Hopefully this won't offend you. I know that someone of—"his dark eyes came to rest on the strange golden ones before him—_"your_ caliber is more than capable."

William's gloved fingers tightened slightly on his walking-stick. He had not relinquished it from his grip because he distrusted Phantomhive, but rather as a comfort thing. "Since you are aware of what truly walks around London's sewers these days, who can be more competent than I at being a manservant in the House of Phantomhive?" he inquired.

At this Vincent's coaly eyes grew abstrusely humored, and he permitted William a small smile. "One _hell_ of a butler."

William was no fool, and frowned immediately at the blatant, poorly-disguised pun. "If I may be so bold, Earl of Phantomhive. I don't think that was a wise choice on your part at all."

_How deep are you in, Lord Phantomhive?_

"I _was_ interested in your services at first, especially because my current Japanese steward is getting on in his years. However, I need something of a more…_malignant_ nature," the other replied. "Something that will have no qualms about carrying out orders, and something that is not bound by as many regulations as yourself. He was the perfect choice."

_"It,"_ William corrected, "will corrupt your child. It will turn its back on you the moment you decide you don't need it, and will spit you out like rancid fruit once you've been completely reeled in by its insidious stench."

"Trust is a very overrated concept these days anyway," Vincent pointed out. William was without a cogent point to argue.

_How low will you sink, until you no longer know in which direction the surface is?_

"In fact, he is already secretly working at the manor," the Earl continued, "which is why I thought we should convene at a different setting."

William chuckled. "You are certainly well-educated, Earl of Phantomhive. I didn't think a human would be aware of the dislike harbored between species."

"I have my sources." Servants of the dead have secrets of their own, Vincent had soon discovered. He was suddenly very grateful for employing the mortician, who had turned out to be someone more interesting than the eye let on. Someone far more interesting.

The feeling in the air gave the impression that the lunch date was coming to a close. "I have many enemies, William," Vincent told him, re-buttoning his pea coat. "It is possible that I may not live to see the century pass.

"However, if you do happen to meet my son one day…"

"I never knew him," William nodded stiffly. Nonetheless, his walking-stick contracted from beneath the table, revealing a double-edged mouth--cutting shears of the sharpest serration. "And I will disregard whatever _thing_ may be at his side."

Vincent Phantomhive smiled. "That's right," he said softly.

_He will drown._


End file.
